


Still Dancing With Your Demons

by Emerald15



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Nightmares, One Shot, Tags May Change, why are my summaries always crap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6425932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald15/pseuds/Emerald15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the strongest of leaders still need comfort and reassurance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Dancing With Your Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Avenged Sevenfold's "Nightmare" because I've been listening to it 3000 times a day instead of revising. Wrote this last week, but only posting now as I just realised that I appear to only post once a year, so hey.  
> This one-shot ain't beta read or anything so if there's mistakes or whatever, just let me know; also, there's not really *major* violence but it's mild, implied kinda, sorta ish. Yeah.

_Shots… Screams… Cries for help…_

_  
“Mama! Dada!”_

_Smoke, as a fire is ignited. Hands on him, grabbing, pulling, hitting… A child’s high-pitched scream… A broken sob and a broken nose… More gunfire and a thud… He spins around wildly, trying to find out where he is, but it’s like trying to move underwater; his movements prove sluggish. There is fire everywhere and smoke in his lungs, making him cough._

_Stairs appear in front of him and he trips. At the bottom, more hands are on him, grabbing his clothes, and they haul him outside. People crying… More gunfire._

_“Dada!”_

_He tries to find the source of the voice, but with a knee digging into his lower back, it’s hard to. There’s sand everywhere._

_“Dada!”_

_There is ringing in the distance as he is pulled back onto his feet. He turns as he’s being dragged backwards. There’s a house in front of him – the ringing gets louder, and louder – and there’s screaming – “Dada!” – and thick flames emit from the house that he recognises as his – “Dada!” – but he can’t do anything, he’s stuck – the screaming is even louder, but it isn’t as loud as his own, or the ringing in his ears –, he’s so helpless he’s – “Dada!” – never felt – the ringing fills his head – so – “Dada!” – helpless – the alarm bell ringing nearly deafens him and he just. Wants. To._

SCREAM.

 

Party Poison bolted upright in bed.

 

The sheets were tangled in his legs, and his whole body shook. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, making his loud red hair stick to his face. His chest heaved with exertion, heart racing against his diaphragm. He wiped away a drop of sweat dangling from the edge of his nose, and brushed strands of hair away from his eyes. He surveyed the room. Nothing. He was alone.

 

There was a soft knock. The door opened slightly, revealing an inch of Fun Ghoul’s face peering inside. “Poison?”

 

The man in question sighed, and kicked at the covers. “Come in, Ghoul.”

 

Door shut securely behind him, Ghoul came to sit on the Killjoy leader’s bed.

 

“Budge up, fatass, I wanna get in,” the dark haired Killjoy gently teased. Poison rolled his eyes but shuffled over enough to allow Ghoul enough room in the bed.

 

Once they were both lying side by side, staring up at the ceiling in darkness, Ghoul asked, “everything okay?”

 

Poison shrugged. “Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”

 

“Cos I heard ya screaming again a coupl’a minutes ago. Ya had another nightmare, didn’t ya? Hey.” Ghoul caught Poison’s shoulder as the leader attempted to turn away. “Don’t be like that, Poison. Ya can’t keep it all bottled inside. It ain’t healthy.”

 

“What, like the PowerPup shit we eat everyday is?”

 

Ghoul rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s literal dog shit, man. C’mon, look at me.”

 

Poison sighed and flipped over to face the other Killjoy. “I’m looking at you. Happy?”

 

There was a heartbeat of silence before Ghoul said softly, “I ain’t gonna tell Kobra, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

“He’s always worried anyway.”

 

“We all are. Especially about you.”

 

“It’s Grace you should be worrying about. Not m–”

 

“You were calling her name again.”

 

Poison averted his eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat. It’d been years since talk about his old life. Grace had tried to get him to open up, had unknowingly pushed too hard, until he’d snapped at her out of pain and anger.

 

_“Dada!”_

He heard the echo of the scream in his mind, until Ghoul brought him out of it with a hand through his hair.

 

“Some ghosts are harder to live with,” Poison whispered.

 

Ghoul nodded understandingly. He knew the pain of which Poison spoke of; the only difference was that he had long since come to terms with their deaths, and had accepted them. He’d seen men far less great than the one before him, driven mad by grief. Ghoul shuffled onto his back, then gently pulled Poison forward onto him.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

“Tryna help ya, dumbass,” Ghoul grunted as he laid Poison’s head on his chest. “Now go to sleep. Hopefully now ya won’t get any nightmares.”

 

“At least lemme get comfy enough to sleep, you dick,” Poison grumbled back. He shuffled around, eventually settling with his head between the crook of Ghoul’s arm, nose nuzzling near the other’s armpit, and an arm thrown over Ghoul’s chest.

 

“Ya done?” Ghoul asked, pretending to be annoyed.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good. Now sleep.” Ghoul threaded his fingers through Poison’s red hair, and, in a much softer voice, whispered, “I’ll look after you.”

 

For the first time since his old haunts had returned, Party Poison slept peacefully for the rest of the night.


End file.
